


As Time Burns On

by MarthaOswinOswald



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 19:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2400542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarthaOswinOswald/pseuds/MarthaOswinOswald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is one of my first fanfics, so be nice!  Hope you enjoyed!</p>
    </blockquote>





	As Time Burns On

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my first fanfics, so be nice! Hope you enjoyed!

Night terrors wake Theta all the time now. His initial screams bring me from my slumber and, in the dark, I wait in agony as the whimpering subsides. Then, Theta will slip between the covers next to me, and I hold him in my arms until sleep takes us both again. 

It’s our ritual now and even though I won’t admit it, I’m glad that I came with Theta when he offered to show me the universe. 

“Thank you, Theta.” I had said.

“It is my honor, Koschei.” was his response.

Tonight is different though. Theta wakes up screaming, as usual but I sit in silence. Hearing him enter my room, I instinctively push aside the covers and slide over. As if on cue, Theta lies down next to me, and we huddle under the blankets, wrapped in one another. Stroking his hair, I finally find the courage to ask:

“What do dream about?”

“I don’t think you want to know, Koschei.” 

“Why?” my reply is almost a command. He mumbles an answer, which encourages me to only hold him tighter. Then, without warning, Theta’s hands are finding my face in the darkness. With a rush a energy, the psychic link is throwing us into his dreams. 

 

We stand on a rock ledge made of dry, red clay and stones. Theta and I are dressed in our Prydonian robes. An orange slip, covered with a scarlet cloak, which only brings more memories of home. All around us smoke rises up below from the burning civilization of Gallifrey. The obsidian walls of the Prydonian Academy are just visible, hundreds of feet below. Our home for the past century, gone in a flash. The glass dome that has always surrounded our mighty city is broken and cracked. The plains of red grass are burning; the flames high with clouds of ash and dust. Even though we stand high above the rest of Gallifrey, the screams of our people are still clear. 

“This,” Theta gestures to the scene below us. “This is what I dream of. Every night. The death of Gallifrey, the Daleks. And then my time comes. Every night I have to end the war like I did hundreds of years ago.” 

“Theta.” I whisper. “Oh, Theta. I’m so sorry...”

I can’t imagine it. Reliving the death of your species every night. Genocide every time you close your eyes. He wanted to run from the war, and I wanted to stay and fight but the reality was the exact opposite. The death of the Daleks and the Timelords should have been at my hands. Not his. He shouldn’t have forced to do this, because Theta isn’t strong enough. I stare at him, because the scene all around us is too horrible to look at. 

“Koschei.” He whispers. Tears are stained on his cheeks, and I can hear his voice is shaking.

“Theta, I-” He cuts me off with a moan, his body shaking with sobs. He wanted to show me what he endures every night. I feel tears forming on the rim of my eyes, the salty liquid running down my face. The weight of the Time War; memories hundreds of years old; returning in seconds. 

We are both in ruins now. So many tears and emotions, that we melt in a heap on the rock ledge high above Gallifrey. 

“Theta,” I start, meeting his eyes with fierce determination. “I’m sorry. This is ending now. This is over, Theta Sigma.” I stand, pulling him to his feet. The drums are louder than ever; pounding out simultaneously through us. Theta and I hold hands, looking over Gallifrey. And finally, the psychic link breaks with the flood of hurt and pain and loss. 

 

I awake, the darkness pressing down all around. Theta is still sleeping, our hands clasped tightly. He can’t endure these dreams anymore, now that I’ve seen what he goes through. Managing to wrestle my other hand out of the covers, I press it to his forehead. The psychic link forms once again, and with effort and I recover the recurring dream. Slowly, ever so slowly, I draw the horror from his mind, never to return.

“Sleep well, little Theta. I love you.”


End file.
